


Come On Baby Be With Me

by fiddleyoumust



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 17:51:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1109808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiddleyoumust/pseuds/fiddleyoumust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a <i>The Holiday</i> AU. Gemma and Nick switch houses for the Christmas Holiday and Nick finds a whole lot more than he bargained for when Gemma's brother Harry shows up at his door in the middle of the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come On Baby Be With Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [estrella30](https://archiveofourown.org/users/estrella30/gifts).



> This is for Nan! Happy Holidays! I'm so glad this fandom introduced us and I'm happy to call you my friend. I hope you like this. <3
> 
> Many thanks to Miranda for yelling at me to write and to Erica and Liz for cheerleading, betaing, and britpicking. I would never have finished this without you. Any remaining mistakes are my own.

Nick throws his wine glass and watches in shocked horror as it explodes against the wall behind Andrew’s head. He’s always liked to be the center of attention, but he usually accomplishes that by dancing drunk on his friends’ coffee tables after a couple of bottles of red, half naked in Aimee’s high heels, screaming, “Look at me!”

He’s not one for violent strops, especially strops that include throwing glass objects at his boyfriend’s head.

Ex-boyfriend now, he supposes. 

“It’s not personal, Grimmy,” Andrew says.

He seems less shocked by the wine glass than Nick is, which makes Nick wish he had another to throw or that he’d at least had better aim with the first one.

“You just told me you were dumping me after more than three years together because you don’t see a future for the two of us and you think I’m bad in bed,” Nick yells. “That’s pretty fucking personal.”

“I didn’t say you were _bad_.”

“You said the sex was terrible!” Nick shrieks. “And your tone clearly indicated it was my fault!”

Andrew has been edging closer to the front door since the wine glass nearly took him out. A part of Nick wants to beg him not to go because Nick has invested three year of his life in this arsehole. He’s going to be 35 next year which explain the desperation. The idea of starting over again makes him so knackered that he’s beginning to think he’d rather have anyone than no one at all.

Thankfully there is a bigger part of him that wants to claw Andrew’s eyes out and stomp on them. Nick supposes he’s a bit more prone to violent strops than he realized since he's really enjoying the nervous way Andrew keeps looking at him. He just might start throwing things at people more often. 

Nick snatches the lamp from the side of the table and lobs that at Andrew before he can talk himself out of it. Unfortunately, the lamp is still plugged in to the wall and its momentum is halted in mid air. With a magnificent jerk, the lamp falls to the floor in front of Nick’s feet and breaks into a dozen satisfying pieces. 

“I think I’ll just…” Andrew has finally reached the door. He says, “I’ll come back for my things after Christmas.”

Nick is going to burn Andrew’s things. Then he’ll put the ashes in a box and burn the box too. He’s going to let Puppy wee on all of Andrews expensive suits. He’s going to…do some other spiteful and vindictive thing as soon as he talks to Pixie and Aimee, who will no doubt have some better ideas.

“You do that,” Nick says and watches Andrew walk out their house. The sound of the door closing behind him has never sounded more final. 

~~~

Aimee comes over two days later with a new lamp as a housewarming present.

“Aren’t housewarming presents supposed to be for new houses?” Nick asks. “I’ve lived here two years.”

“For new beginnings,” Aimee says, taking a quick look around. She whistles when she sees that Nick has already cleaned out all of Andrew’s things. “I see you’re not wasting any time.”

Nick opens the back door to the garden to show Aimee the pile of Andrew’s belongings he’s left sitting outside in the cold December rain. He threw it out there yesterday, and he gets a sick satisfaction from knowing it will all be ruined by the time Andrew comes to fetch it.

“I’ve never seen this side of you,” Aimee says. “I like it.”

“We were supposed to go to his family’s at Christmas,” Nick says, going into the kitchen to look mournfully at the little red Xs that were meant to mark his vacation days.

Nick had thought spending the holidays with Andrew’s family would be the next big step in their relationship. They had gone to their own respective gatherings for the past couple of years and Nick had been certain that Andrew’s invite meant something -- that something big was coming.

He’d be a liar if he said he hadn’t imagined a future for the two of them, a future with rings and maybe a couple of babies down the line. As much as Nick pretends to be disgusted by love, he’s really quite fond of it. He wants it all: a husband, children, and a family of his own. 

“I know your parents aren’t home this year,” Aimee says. “You can come to mine and flirt with Ian if you want. You know you’re always welcome.” 

Nick does know. He has great friends and family. In fact, his sister Jane has already invited him to spend Christmas at hers. But Nick isn’t in the Christmas mood. He wants to curl up on the sofa, watch sad films, and have a bit of a cry, if he’s being entirely honest with himself. Spending time with people who have their lives put together while his is such a mess doesn’t sound like his idea of a good time.

“I’m alright,” Nick says. “Puppy and I will sit on the sofa and watch horrible, low budget BBC Christmas films together.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to sit around feeling sorry for yourself on Christmas,” Aimee says. “Why don’t you leave Puppy with me and go somewhere tropical? Fuck a few pretty boys and get yourself a tan!”

Nick’s tempted, but if he’s learned anything in the past two years it’s that taking responsibility and thinking about the future are important parts of being an adult. When he and Andrew decided to move in together, Nick had given up his flat for their bigger place. He likes the new house, but he’s never loved it like he loved his flat, and now it’s going to be a strain on his bank account without Andrew’s income. 

“I’d like nothing more,” Nick says, “but I am still the proud owner of a mortgage that was meant for two incomes, and I’ve only the one.”

“You should do one of those home swaps,” Amy suggests. “Some sad lonely soul can come live it up in your overpriced London house and you can go hole up somewhere to lick your wounds and come back after the holidays ready to find love again.” She says all of this with the kind of sarcastic disdain she usually reserves for crying babies in Tesco or especially mushy greeting cards. 

Despite the fact that she is clearly joking, Nick does take a moment to consider the possibility. He’s already got the days off, whether or not he’s leaving town. He could possibly even take Puppy along, depending on where he ends up.

“Hmm,” Nick says, booting up his laptop.

“I wasn’t serious, Grimmy.” 

“But it’s not a terrible idea,” Nick says. “It’s free, and I really could use a getaway. Maybe I can even convince the swap to deal with Andrew when he comes for his things.”

Nick googles “holiday house swap” and clicks on the first link that pops up. The first couple of entries are rubbish, but there is one that catches his eye.

“Look here. This girl’s got a cabin in Holmes Chapel. I could lie about for a week and then pop round to Eileen and Pete’s when they get home from their holiday.”

Nick shoots off an email before he can talk himself out of it.

“I can’t believe you’re about to spend your vacation mucking around in cow shit,” Aimee says. “What happened to the Nick Grimshaw who used to spend his time off doing coke and a model of his choosing in the toilet at Groucho?”

“All of his wingwomen went off and got married so now he has to go to the country with his dog.”

Nick is mostly teasing, but Aimee has the decency to look a bit guilty.

“In my defense, you did introduce us,” Aimee says. 

Nick loves Ian. He loves Aimee and Ian together. He loves that all of his friends are happy and settled and starting families of their own. He’s also very jealous that he doesn’t have the same for himself.

“That’s me,” Nick says. “Always the matchmaker and never the match.”

“Nicholas,” Aimee says sternly.

Nick has heard everything Aimee is about to say a hundred times. That Nick is handsome and funny and charming and a good time, and that _someday_ he’ll meet Mister Right. Nick doesn’t need another pep talk. He needs to get away from his life for a bit, regroup, and figure out what he wants to do next. 

“I’m okay, Aims,” Nick says. “Don’t worry about me. Go home and give Ian a big old kiss for me.”

Aimee sighs like she has more to say, but she only picks up her purse and presses a lipstick kiss to Nick’s cheek. 

“Be good,” she says as she makes her way to the door. 

“Am I ever?” Nick asks and gets a snort in reply.

~~~

The girl who lives in the cabin in Holmes Chapel is called Gemma. Her house is the family's holiday home, in which Gemma has been living for a year since she split with her fiance. 

They end up having a lovely Skype conversation about the cabin, during which they carry their computers around to give each other virtual tours of their places.

“Your house is so lovely,” Gemma tells him. “I want all your art.”

The cabin is also lovely. It looks like an advertisement for rustic holiday homes and not at all what Nick was expecting. Sounds like Gemma’s family might be a bit posh if they have a holiday home to loan out to their daughter as a permanent residence.

“Is it alright if I bring my dog?” Nick asks. “She mostly only chews my shoes and the occasional pen I leave lying about.”

Gemma laughs and asks, “How does she feel about cats? Because I was planning on leaving Arya here, if you don’t mind.”

“Puppy loves a cat,” Nick says. “They’ll be fast friends.”

“I think this is going to be great,” Gemma says. “I get to see London and I don’t have to be here when my completely horrible ex marries the girl he dumped me for.”

“Who gets married at Christmas for Christ’s sake?” says Nick. “You dodged a bullet there if you ask me.”

“Exactly!” Gemma says. 

Gemma has a pretty laugh and a good face, and Nick likes her even though they’ve only known one another fifteen minutes. She has what his mother would call “an honest face,” and Nick is uncharacteristically zen about letting her stay in his house. 

“There is one small thing,” Nick says. “ _My_ completely horrible ex might come by for his things while you’re here.”

“Can I tell him we’re dating?” Gemma asks. “That dating him was so terrible you’ve decided to try girls?” 

“Only if you record it so I can watch it back later,” Nick says.

“It's a deal,” Gemma says.

~~~

It’s late and very dark by the time Nick pulls up in front of Gemma’s cabin. It's been raining the last hour and Nick curses under his breath as he steps out onto the gravel path leading up to Gemma’s front door. He always forgets how truly cold and miserable the weather can be up North, although he’s usually reminded every Christmas when he goes to visit his parents. 

Gemma didn’t leave any of the outside lights on so Nick can’t see a fucking thing. By the time he’s collected Puppy and grabbed his things out of the car, he’s soaked through all of his layers and his teeth won’t stop chattering.

At least the key is exactly where Gemma promised it would be. When Nick opens the door, he’s relieved to find that Gemma’s left the heat on inside. He lets Puppy off her lead to go investigate the cat, Arya, who hisses enthusiastically and then jumps up on the dining room table to escape Puppy’s over-eager sniffing.

“You’re going to end up with a bloodied nose and you’ll have no one to blame but yourself,” Nick tells Puppy as she tries to find a way to get to the cat. 

Nick starts stripping out of his wet things, dropping them on the floor. He’s down to his pants when there’s a loud banging on the door. 

He stands very still for a moment, heart hammering, and wonders if whoever is on the other side is A., here to kill him and B., might possibly go away if Nick just pretends there’s no one home. 

That would be easier if Puppy wasn’t barking her head off.

“I know you’re home, Gem! I saw you moving in the window. It’s freezing out here, by the way.”

Nick is slightly relieved to know the intruder is someone Gemma probably knows, but he’s stripped down to his pants and still doesn’t know Gemma very well at all. It’s entirely possible that she’s sent someone to kill him so that she can assume his life in London. He grabs a throw off the back of the sofa, pulls it around his shoulders, takes a deep breath and opens the door.

There is a very nice-looking young man standing on the doorstep. He’s wet but very attractive and tall, though not nearly as tall as Nick. Nick’s got him by a few inches at least. His hair curls around his ears but the front is pushed up into what would likely be an impressive quiff were it not destroyed by freezing drizzle.

His face is amazing, though Nick doesn’t think it should be -- wide-set green eyes and a mouth so full and pretty it would be more at home on a girl’s face. Looking at him makes Nick’s chest hurt. If he believed in anything as ridiculous as love at first sight he imagines it might feel something like this.

Nick only realizes he’s been staring for some time when the very attractive man says, “You are not Gemma,” in a voice so deep and slow that Nick’s stomach dips, dragged down by the timbre of it. 

Puppy hasn’t shut up since the knock on the door, but Nick has no doubt that she’ll be of little help if this very attractive man tries to kill him.

“No, I’m not Gemma,” Nick says, and then, “Shut up, Puppy.”

“Fierce, that one,” says the very attractive man.

“I’m always comforted by the knowledge that, should anyone attempt to burgle me, she’ll simply annoy them to death,” Nick says.

The man laughs and that is also really good -- good face, good voice, good laugh. The trifecta. 

“So, should I be worried that you seem to be living in my sister’s house?” asks the attractive man.

“You’re Gemma’s brother! Probably not going to kill me then,” Nick says. “She and I swapped houses for Christmas. She’s in London in my house for the week and here I am.”

“Do people actually -- hello, I’m Harry by the way,” says Gemma’s brother. “Do you think I could come in? It’s freezing out here.”

“Just so we're clear, you're _not_ planning on killing me?”

“Ground’s a bit hard for burying a body. Probably more trouble than it’s worth.”

Nick shrugs. “You could always do a bonfire. I think I’d prefer cremation to rotting away in the ground anyway.”

“I like a man who thinks outside the box,” Harry says, and then he makes a rim shot sound and smiles proudly at his own stupid joke.

“That was horrible,” Nick says, stepping back to let Harry inside. A person who tells such terrible jokes couldn’t possibly be a murderer. 

Puppy immediately starts to sniff the wet cuffs of Harry’s _very_ tight jeans. Nick admires the view as Harry leans down to scratch behind Puppy’s ears and pat her on the head. 

“I’m Nick,” he says when Harry’s straightened back up. They nod at one another in lieu of shaking hands because Nick doesn’t want to let go of the blanket he’s got wrapped around him like a toga. 

“So, Nick, people actually do that? Swap houses?” Harry asks on his way into the sitting room. 

“Apparently,” Nick says. “She wanted to escape a wedding, I wanted to escape an ex, and here we are.”

“Russell,” Harry says darkly. “Right. I tried to forget about that wanker.”

He makes himself comfortable on Gemma’s sofa, which probably isn’t odd at all considering he’s Gemma’s brother, but Nick feels weird about it. Nick automatically slips into host mode when he has people over, but here he feels out of his element. Harry would probably be the better host in this situation, seeing as how this is _his_ family’s holiday home, but for some reason he’s acting more like a guest. 

Nick is flustered. He is also not wearing any trousers. 

“I should put some jeans on,” Nick says. “I got very wet bringing my things in and I…”

Harry smiles. That smile is…not good for Nick’s health. Nick is fairly certain that Harry is checking him out.

“Don’t go out of your way on my account,” Harry says. “If you’re uncomfortable I could take mine off, too.”

Nick laughs, high and strangled, and pulls the blanket up over his head.

“Are you coming on to me?” he asks.

“Well, you’re fit,” Harry says. “You should come out from under there and get us both a drink.”

“If I knew where Gemma keeps her alcohol,” Nick says, “I would have done that five minutes ago.”

It’s all slightly muffled through the blanket, but he senses Harry moving, quickly followed by the sound of cabinets and drawers opening and closing, liquid being poured into glasses. Nick could really use a drink, but he realizes he’ll probably have to come out from under the blanket to drink it.

After a moment of indecision, Nick pokes his head out just as Harry re-corks a bottle of red wine and picks up two long-stemmed glasses in one of his giant hands. Nick has really big hands too, but that’s mostly due to his freakishly long, alien-like fingers. Harry’s hands are just _big_ all over. 

Nick drops the blanket back to his shoulders and takes the glass of wine Harry hands him. He drinks half in one gulp. It’s like soaking in a really hot tub after a long day at work, warming and relaxing, and Nick feels less nervous by half. 

“You never said why you stopped by,” Nick says.

“I play gigs at this little pub down the way on the weekend. Sometimes Gemma lets me sleep on the sofa if it gets too late. Didn’t bother telling anyone she’s gone off to London for Christmas. My mum is going to skin her alive when she finds out.”

“What do you play?” Nick asks.

“A bit of guitar. I admit I’m pretty rubbish at it, but I can sing okay,” Harry says. “And that’s me sorted. What’s your story, Nick? Is your wanker of an ex getting married, too?”

Nick drinks the rest of his wine and nips into the kitchen for the bottle before he’s settled enough to say, “He’s a wanker, yes, but he isn’t getting married. He’s just decided he doesn’t want a family, at least not with me, because he doesn’t love me anymore and thinks I’m bad in bed.”

Nick takes a gulp of wine straight from the bottle, then pours himself another glass while Harry looks him over the way he did before. 

“That can’t possibly be true,” Harry says. 

_Fuck it_ , Nick thinks and drains the glass. Harry is attractive and he seems smart and funny and interested in seeing Nick naked. There is nothing stopping Nick from having a fling on his Christmas vacation but his own stupid insecurities, of which there are many. Not sleeping with Harry would be like letting Andrew win, and Nick hates it when other people win. Nick is very competitive.

“We should have sex,” Nick says.

If a word existed in the English language for a cross between amusement and bemusement, Nick imagines Harry’s face would be the very definition. 

Nick knows he needs to work on his lead ins. He is the host of the most iconic breakfast show in all of Great Britain and he’s still horrible at a lead in.

“I thought that’s what I’ve been saying,” Harry says.

“But it might be disappointing!” Nick says, wedging himself in next to Harry, who’s sat at the center of the sofa, and letting the blanket fall off of his shoulders. “Just putting that out there.”

Harry shakes his head and kisses Nick, dragging his tongue lightly over Nick’s bottom lip until Nick angles his head and allows Harry to kiss him properly. Harry’s mouth is warm and rich from the wine. Nick feels overly hot. It’s weird to think that half an hour ago he was soaking wet and freezing. 

When the kiss ends, Harry says, “Your ex is an idiot.”

Nick has no intention of arguing. Harry may be the best looking person Nick has ever seen, which is weird because nothing about his face should work. His hair looks like a cross between Albert Einstein’s and a bird’s nest. One of his eyes is definitely a little bit wonky. But somehow all of those imperfections add up to a really striking person. A person who wants to have sex with Nick.

“Let’s take this somewhere that has a bed,” Nick says.

Since Nick never made it much past the cottage’s front door, Harry leads the way up the stairs. Nick glances at the family photos on the wall as they go, spotting Harry in many of them. Harry doesn’t seem to have changed much over the years, although his hair is much longer and curlier now. Gemma is less recognizable. In their Skype conversation, she’d had long blonde hair and a sharp face. The photos on the wall depict a girl with rounder features and hair as dark as her brother’s.

When Harry stops at one of the bedroom doors, Nick says, “You and your sister look very much alike.”

“Nothing like talking about a bloke’s sister to get him in the mood,” Harry says. 

Nick laughs and leans back against the wall. This is insane. He doesn’t mean the sleeping with a stranger part -- he’s done that more times than he cares to admit, and sometimes twice in one night -- but this was supposed to be Nick’s week to regroup, to stop making the same mistakes he always seems to be making in relationships so he can decide what he wants to do about the rest of his life.

“To be fair,” Nick says, “I did warn you I might be terrible at this.”

“How many people have you slept with?” Harry asks.

“That really isn’t any of your business,” Nick says, even though he knows it will make him look like a giant slag who’s ashamed of the number. 

Harry just stares at him until Nick says, “I honestly don’t know. I drank a lot when I was younger. I’m a bit of a slag.”

“And all of those people said you were terrible at sex?”

Nick opens his mouth and then closes it again. Harry gives him a sympathetic look.

“Let’s get that arsehole out of your head, yeah?” Harry says.

He moves to push Nick more firmly against the wall at Nick's back, kissing down Nick’s neck and sucking Nick’s skin between his teeth as he goes.

“Jesus Christ,” Nick says, shuddering as Harry proceeds to his nipples, licking and then blowing across both of them.

“You should help me out of these wet clothes,“ Harry says, stepping back to give himself room to get at the zip of his jeans.

Nick reaches for him, fumbling the buttons of Harry’s ugly plaid shirt while Harry works his jeans open. Nick’s having less luck with the shirt, the buttons slippery in his fingers until he finally decides to just yank the thing off, buttons be damned. Harry’s only got three of them done up at any rate.

Harry’s shirt barely hits the floor before he’s back to kissing Nick. He pulls Nick away from the wall and moves them through the bedroom doorway, not stopping until the backs of Nick's thighs hit the bed. Harry really does look incredible -- shirtless, with his jeans unzipped and his hair a mess of curls now that the product has been washed away by the rain.

“Get on the bed,” Nick says.

Harry gives Nick a cheeky grin and crawls up the mattress, flopping on his back and pillowing his head on his arms.

Nick is finally able to get a good look at Harry’s tattoos. Nick has a few rubbish ones here and there, but Harry is covered in them, little nothing tattoos that cover most of his left arm, some text on his hip that says _might as well_ \-- Nick rolls his eyes -- and a giant moth that spans his rib cage just below his pecs.

Most of them are ugly and should detract from the overall package, but they don’t. Nick thinks the overall package is pretty hot, if he’s being honest. 

“You like tattoos?” Harry asks, a knowing look in his eyes.

“I think you like tattoos, from the looks of you.”

Harry shrugs. “I get them for people and places I don’t want to forget,” he says.

It’s a ridiculous thing for a person to say. Nick got most of his on a dare or because he was too drunk to think better of it. They don’t mean much to him now, except maybe feelings of mild regret. He has no idea why he finds Harry’s so charming.

“Are you going to take those jeans off?” Nick asks, nodding toward Harry.

“Are you going to take off those pants?” Harry replies cheekily.

Nick has every intention of doing just that, but if they’re going to do this Nick is going to need a condom and some slick, both of which are downstairs in his luggage.

“I’m going to run downstairs for supplies,” Nick says. “You work on those jeans while I’m gone.”

Nick gets downstairs and tears through his luggage in record time. Upstairs, Harry's finally gotten naked for Nick, his body spread out on display and his hand loose around his cock. When he sees Nick in the doorway he starts to touch himself with purpose, as if he was just waiting for Nick to return so he could put on a show.

“How do you want me?” Harry asks, using his thumb to spread precome over the head of his dick in a way that makes Nick’s mouth water.

Nick wants Harry a lot of ways, but he’s especially interested in Harry’s hair, getting his hands in it and pulling on it.

“Suck me,” Nick finally says, coming to stand at the edge of the bed.

He’s trying to decide if he should take his pants off before he gets on the bed or let Harry do it for him, but Harry apparently has other ideas because he slides off of the mattress and gets to his knees in front of Nick.

Just looking down at Harry while Harry looks up at him makes Nick lightheaded. It would be horribly embarrassing if he actually passed out from a blowjob. 

“You’re so fit,” Nick says, closing his eyes to steady himself when Harry smiles and reaches up to pull Nick’s cock out and take him into his mouth.

Harry sucks him like he’s starved for it, his mouth wet and soft -- a contrast to the way he moans and blinks back tears every time Nick hits the back of his throat. When Nick puts his hand lightly on the top of Harry’s head like a question, Harry answers with a soft nod, so Nick twists his fingers into Harry’s curls and pulls just enough to angle his head back, making it easier for Harry to take him into his throat without choking. 

Nick wouldn’t mind coming like this, but he doesn’t want to disappoint Harry if he wants to get fucked.

“Stop,” Nick says when he feels like he's getting close.

He tugs gently on Harry’s hair until Harry pulls off and wipes over his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Can you go again later?” Harry asks, taking Nick in hand and pushing his foreskin back to run his thumb over Nick’s crown.

Nick hasn’t gone twice in the same night in years, but he also hasn’t had incentive like this in a very long time.

“I think I’m up to the challenge,” Nick tells him.

Harry’s mouth look positively pornographic. Nick wants to see his come on Harry’s lips, dripping off of his chin and cheeks, and then he wants to lick it off and do it over again.

Nick doesn’t realize he’s said any of that out loud until Harry says, “Do it. I want you to.”

“Christ,” Nick says, batting Harry’s hand away to wank himself just the way he likes. 

Harry tilts his head back, eyes closed and tongue out, and Nick thinks it really is like he’s living out a porn fantasy. This is quickly shaping up to be the best holiday Nick has ever taken.

“Come on,” Harry says encouragingly, licking over his bottom lip. 

That’s all it takes to push Nick to orgasm, his come streaking over Harry’s face and onto his tongue. Nick drops to his knees as soon as he can and bites at Harry’s bottom lip, licking over his chin and cheeks before kissing the taste of himself from Harry’s tongue, just as he promised.

Harry seems content to keep kissing, but Nick has still got something to prove. He’s going to need a bit to recover before he can go again, but he has every intention of making sure he’s in good company while he waits.

He works Harry's cock, wanking him slowly, circling the head at a maddening pace until Harry starts trying to thrust up into Nick’s hand to get more friction, making frustrated noises against Nick’s mouth.

Nick leaves his fist loose and lets Harry work for it because he really looks delicious like this, sweaty and straining and one step away from begging.

Harry whines Nick's name and Nick loves it.

“I love the way you say my name,” Nick says. "Say it again." 

It's ust like Nick's flipped a switch -- Harry tenses in Nick’s arms and comes, spilling over his fist with Nick's name on his lips.

After, Harry clings to Nick and lets Nick pet him, pushing his hair off his face to kiss his brow.

“Bed,” Harry croaks after a bit.

Nick gets up first, his knees protesting every moment he’s spent kneeling on the hard floor, and then offers his hand to Harry to help him up. Harry turns down the bed and they both crawl under the duvet, gravitating toward each other.

“Sleep,” Harry says around a yawn. “I’m collecting on round two in an hour.”

Nick has no idea if he’ll be able to go again in an hour or even two, but he’s looking forward to finding out.

~~~

Nick has slept with a whole lot of people, but he’s always been rubbish at the morning after. It might be due to the fact that, before Andrew, he had done his best to fuck in club bathrooms or the occasional guest bedroom at a house party. On the rare occasions he took someone home or went to theirs, he used the excuse of his early morning job to scoot himself or his partner out the door well before his alarm at half five. 

His initial reaction upon waking up alone is relief, but that only lasts long enough for his nose to recognize the delicious smells wafting upstairs from the kitchen. Harry’s not only still here, he’s apparently making Nick morning after breakfast.

Nick spends a few harried minutes trying to decide if he should go downstairs in his towel, if he should appropriate the robe of Gemma’s he’s found hanging on the back of the bathroom door, or if he should just put on his pants from the night before because he’s left his bag sitting downstairs by the front door.

Waking up at an indecent hour five days a week has made Nick fairly sharp in the mornings, but today he feels very overwhelmed by the choices he’s facing. He finally decides that Harry’s already seen him naked and hasn’t snuck out. Nick probably won’t offend if he goes down in his pants. 

Harry, on the other hand, seems to be great at the morning after. He’s in the middle of making French toast when Nick edges into the kitchen.

“Morning,” Nick says, his voice still scratchy from sleep. 

Harry smiles and pours him a cup of coffee, something that Nick finds both strange and wonderful. Most people go for the tea, and then they chastise Nick for not being British enough when he admits he doesn’t really care for it.

Nick takes the cup with a thank you and accepts the kiss Harry offers too. The easy affection is a bit strange for a one night stand, but Nick's the last person to judge someone for being overly affectionate. 

“I think you should come down to the pub tonight,” Harry says, his back turned away from Nick

Both the aroma of French toast and Nick's musings about Harry's good morning kiss have sufficiently distracted Nick. It takes him a moment to clear the cobwebs from his brain and process what Harry has just said. 

“Are you asking me out?” Nick asks.

“I’m saying you should come round to the pub tonight, listen to me sing, have a few beers and then bring me back here and fuck me,” Harry says.

“That sounds suspiciously like a date,” Nick tells him. 

“Do you want it to be a date?”

Nick’s relationship with Andrew was the longest he’s ever had. He’s sort of awful at relationships -- at least the romantic ones. He’s had the same group of friends since he was a fresh-faced twenty year old, just arrived in London. Unfortunately, that sort of long-term commitment never really translated to love.

Nick is flighty and forgetful. He’s never met a person he wanted to say no to, so he usually doesn’t. He’s consistently overbooking himself between work commitments, friends, and family that sometimes he completely forgets he has to do one thing because he’s already promised to do the other. His friends and family are used to it, find it endearing even, but all of his partners have tended to frown on being double booked and forgotten.

The point being that it’s probably not a good idea to go on a date with a good-looking stranger who just gave Nick one of the greatest shags of his life and who Nick will probably never see again after the holiday is over. 

“Probably not a good idea,” Nick says. “I just got out of a thing and I’m only here for a week.”

“Well, I think it’s only a date if I buy your drinks,” Harry says. “If you pay for yourself it’s just a casual holiday hook-up.”

Nick really is rubbish at saying no. He doesn’t want to anyway and he figures he’s won’t be here long enough to cause either of them any real damage.

“That sounds perfect,” Nick says. “I mean -- if that’s good for you too?”

“It’s good for me. I’m really looking forward to getting you naked again,” Harry says. “Now let’s have some eggy bread.”

Nick sits dutifully at the kitchen table and watches the muscles in Harry's back flex and move under his tan skin as he serves the toast. Harry is certainly easy on the eyes and he seems nice and goofy, which takes some of the edge off of how devastatingly attractive he is.

Maybe a fling with a ridiculously fit twentysomething is exactly what Nick needs.

~~~

Harry is right: he’s rubbish at guitar playing, but his voice really is good -- a bit rough and unpracticed but with a certain quality that makes Nick’s gut go all swoopy. 

After Harry’s finished his gig, they sit at a table in the back of the pub with a few of Harry’s friends. They’re a loud bunch and they only get louder the more drinks they get into them. There is a lot of drunken banter, which makes Nick feel very much at home. Nick is aces as drunken banter.

“So what do you do, Nick?” asks one of Harry’s friends, a sandy-haired bloke who also appears to be named Nick. It’s not confusing yet, but Nick imagines it will be once he’s had a few more beers.

Nick pretends he doesn’t like to brag about his job, but he actually _loves_ to brag about his job. He’s dreamed of doing radio since he was a young boy, and the Breakfast Show has always been his ultimate goal. That he’s done it all before his 30th birthday is something Nick never tires of gloating about.

“I’m in radio,” Nick says.

Harry snorts next to him and says to the other Nick, “He’s Nick Grimshaw,” which throws Nick for a bit of a loop. He still forgets that he talks to an audience of over 8 million people every morning and that a lot of the people he meets already know who he is.

Other Nick looks at them both blankly. Harry says, “The Radio 1 Breakfast show?”

Turns out Other Nick listens to Capital. The entire table erupts in such protest that Other Nick throws his hands in the air and offers to buy the table a round just to make up for his grievous sin. 

“Capital, for Christ’s sake,” Nick mutters, shaking his head. 

Harry rubs his hand over Nick’s thigh in what Nick thinks is supposed to a sympathetic gesture, but mostly it just turns Nick on.

He’s about to suggest they go back to the cabin when a very loud blonde girl comes up behind Harry and drops her chin down on his shoulder.

“Harry Styles!” she yells right in Nick’s ear.

“Ellis!” Harry yells back, turning his head and laying a smacking kiss on her cheek. 

“I’m soaked through,” the girl -- Ellis, Nick supposes, if that’s even a proper name -- says as she pulls up a chair and wedges herself right between Nick and Harry.

“Hey Nick,” Harry says, leaning around her. “You know why England is so wet?”

Ellis does this weird moan-laugh thing and puts her head down on the table. Her shoulders are shaking with it.

“Haven’t the foggiest,” Nick says.

“Here he goes,” Ellis says. “No idea how he ever gets a shag.”

“It’s because the Queen’s had such a long reign. Get it? _Reign_?”

Nick laughs, but only because it’s _so_ terrible. Harry’s sense of humor is clearly better suited to someone who’s still in primary school.

“Don’t encourage him,” Ellis says. “And for god’s sake don’t sleep with him. That also encourages him.”

“Too late,” Harry says with a happy smile, and that is even more of a turn on than the thigh touching. If Harry lived in London, Nick would be well and truly fucked because he keeps wanting Harry more than he did just a moment before.

Harry must sense a shift in Nick because he kisses Ellis on the cheek again and says, “We’re off. Good to see you, babe.”

Nick is curious about the two of them but knows it doesn’t necessarily mean anything, as he’s equally affectionate with his own female friends. Nick’s always had a bit of a jealous streak. He wants to be the center of attention _all the time_ and he’s always resented anyone who’s tried to take it away from him.

Harry’s attention is fully focused on Nick now though. He picks Nick’s coat up off the back of his chair and holds it out for him -- suspiciously like someone might do if they were on a date. Nick lets Harry him help into it anyway, then loops his arm through Harry’s when Harry offers it.

“Goodnight, lads,” Harry says. “And Ellis.”

Ellis flips him off and Nick hears her demand for someone at the table to buy her a drink before Harry tugs him out of the pub and they’re on their way.

They have their own cars, but Harry walks with Nick to his and then makes his way around to the passenger side.

“You coming back to mine, then?” Nick asks, although he supposes it’s more Harry’s house than his anyway. The last two days have been very strange. 

“Thought that was well established,” Harry says, raising his eyebrows and biting his bottom lip in a way that Nick imagines might make anyone with a pulse think about sex.

“Do you always get what you want?” Nick asks.

“Not always,” Harry says, but he grins at Nick as if he knows he’ll be getting his way tonight.

Nick doesn’t want Harry to think he’s won yet. He likes the chase as much as Harry seems to, and he likes that Harry is willing to work for it, to flirt and bat his eyes at Nick until Nick gives in.

“You didn’t tell me you knew who I was,” Nick says.

“Does it bother you?” Harry asks.

“I kind of like it, if I’m honest,” Nick says. “Do you go around searching out Radio 1 DJs to shag? Am I just a number on a list?”

Harry gives him a cheeky smile before cupping his hands to his face and blowing on them to warm them up. It’s not raining anymore, but the temperature is still colder than Nick likes. They should really be finishing this conversation in the car. Flirting is all fun and games until someone literally freezes their bits off. 

Nick nods at Harry and says, “Get in before you freeze your bollocks off.”

“I had the biggest crush on you when I was fourteen,” Harry says, sliding into the passenger seat and buckling his safety belt. “I used to wank over you when you were on T4.”

“Oh _God_ ,” Nick groans, resting his head on the steering wheel. “I’m probably going to hell for this but that is fantastic. I’m living out a Katy Perry song. I am your actual teenage dream.”

“I’m going to buy a T-shirt,” Harry says, “‘I fucked Nick Grimshaw off of Radio 1.’ Maybe I’ll create a line and sell them in London. You said you were a bit of a slag.”

Nick should not find any of this charming, but he’s always been a bit of a twisted fuck and his ego certainly likes the idea of super fit Harry Styles having a thing for him for an entire decade.

“You’re going to have to actually fuck me first,” Nick says. “Truth in advertising and all that.”

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Harry asks. “Start the car.”

~~~

Part of the problem with getting up at the crack of dawn for work five days a week is that unless Nick’s got completely pissed the night before and stayed up well past his bedtime, it’s nearly impossible for him to sleep in. That first morning with Harry had to have been some kind of fluke, possibly brought on by a sex coma, but when Nick wakes up the morning after the pub, the sex seems to be having the opposite effect. His thighs ache and he’s got a twinge in his lower back. This never would have happened to him at twenty-five, and he’s a bit mortified to realize that two consecutive nights of really athletic sex seems to have done his body in.

Nick doesn’t want to wake Harry, partly because he looks particularly adorable when he’s sleeping, but also because Nick is a little bit afraid Harry will want to go again and he’s not sure he has it in him this morning. Rather than watching Harry sleep like some kind of voyeur, Nick slides out of bed as gently as he can and heads for the shower.

The hot water feels great on his sore muscles. The tension in his back and shoulders bleeds away the longer he stands under the spray. It takes a good five minutes before he can work up the energy to dump shampoo into his palm and lather up his hair.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when the curtain pulls back and Harry steps into the tub with him.

“Hiya,” Harry says sleepily, twining his arms around Nick’s neck before he kisses him open-mouthed and messy.

Nick forgets all about his aching body and kisses back while the spray from the shower has the suds from Nick’s hair running down both of their faces.

“Morning,” Nick says back once Harry’s pulled away. “You scared me.”

“Sorry about that. I was on a mission for a morning kiss,” Harry says between little kisses and bites to Nick’s jaw. “What are your plans today?” 

Nick’s plans for this entire week were supposed to consist of watching whatever terrible telly he could find, reading a book Pixie gave him that has a bare-chested man on the cover with long flowing locks of hair and breeches that cling to his bum in incredible ways, and walking Puppy -- maybe letting her off her lead to chase a cow or a bird. 

“Not much,” Nick answers.

“I think we should wank each other off in the shower and then you should make me breakfast,” Harry says. “After that I’d like to take you out on a proper date.”

It’s ridiculous how much Nick wants to do everything Harry’s suggested. Harry’s so easygoing and charming and fun. Nick already likes him more than he should, even knowing he’s going to leave after Christmas and never see Harry again.

“I thought we decided that was a bad idea,” Nick says, but he’s already pulling Harry closer so he can suck at the curve of his neck where it meets his shoulder.

“I really like you,” Harry says, tilting his head back to give Nick better access. “And it’s been a while since I really liked someone. I want us to get to know each other, and it seems stupid to ignore that just because it might not go anywhere.”

Nick knows he’s fucked either way. If he refuses, he’ll always regret it; if he agrees, he’ll most likely get his heart bruised in the end. He already likes Harry more than he should even though they barely know one another.

Nick would rather live with a little pain than a whole lot of regret.

“When and where are you taking me?” Nick asks. “Can I bring Puppy? She’s been cooped up our entire holiday so far.”

“Sure,” Harry says, smiling brightly. “It’ll have to be tomorrow as I've only just remembered I have to do some last minute shopping with my mum today, but tomorrow I’ll take you around Holmes Chapel, show you where I used to work when I was a boy.”

Nick’s completely enamored by thoughts of gangly teenage Harry working at his first job. His brain is attempting to set of warning bells, screaming _abort, abort, abort_ , but Nick steadfastly ignores it and pushes Harry against the bathroom tiles to kiss him breathless instead.

~~~

The following day Harry takes him to a run-down, beige little building with a maroon sign that reads _W. Mandeville Grocer & Baker._ The inside is quaint, with checked floor tiles and old glass cases full of freshly baked sweets. It’s nothing like the posh, polished stores Nick would find in Primrose Hill.

“Smells heavenly in here,” Nick says, his mouth already watering at the thought of a mince pie.

One of the old ladies behind the counter lets out a whoop when she spots Harry and comes round to hug him. She smacks a decidedly un-grandmotherly kiss to his cheek.

“My darling boy,” she says, clutching Harry’s face between her hands. “It’s been too long. Is Addison not with you today?”

Harry shifts out of her grip and shoves Nick forward with a curiously guilty expression on his face. Nick can’t tell if he’s trying to take the heat off of himself by giving the woman someone new to fawn over or if he’s trying to avoid questions about this “Addison.” Nick is curious, of course, but he and Harry have only just met. Maybe she’s an ex or another sister or Harry’s mum. There’s so much Nick doesn’t know about Harry. But that’s the purpose of today, Nick reminds himself -- to get to know each other.

“Nick, this is Barbara. Likes to flirt with me and compliment my bum whenever I come in for a slice of cake,” Harry says. “Barbara, this is Nick. He and Gemma did one of those house swaps for Christmas, so I’m showing him around town.”

Barbara does not look at all ashamed. She laughs and hugs Nick just as enthusiastically as she’d hugged Harry a few seconds before.

“It is a nice bum,” Nick says, and Barbara nods agreeably. 

“All of Holmes Chapel thinks so, too,” she says. “He never lacks for affection, our Harry.”

It’s the kind of conversation that would embarrass most people, but Harry seems to be enjoying the attention, if the wide grin on his face is any indication. Nick loves it. He holds people with a lack of shame in very high regard. There is little he enjoys more than spending time with people who can laugh at themselves and don’t mind when other people do the same.

“I’m wooing this one with cake,” Harry says, giving Nick a saucy wink.

Between the horrible dad jokes and Harry’s penchant for long and pointless stories, Nick figures Harry is actually a sixty-five-year-old man trapped in a super fit body. _Honestly_ , what kind of twenty-four-year-old uses words like “wooing” and goes around winking at people?

“I want a mince pie,” Nick demands.

Harry orders two mince pies, two slices of vanilla cake, and two cups of coffee to go before grabbing Barbara’s hand and kissing the top of it as he says his goodbyes. Nick swears she blushes and he makes a mental note to tease Harry about it once they’ve gone, but he gets distracted from his mission by Puppy, who he’d left tethered up outside the shop and who enthusiastically throws herself at Nick as soon as she sees him.

“I think she likes you,” Harry says.

Rubbing a hand over her head, Nick unties her from the side of the building. “My one true love,” he says, “aren’t you, girl?”

Harry smiles at him and suggests they walk around for a bit. The weather is still not ideal for a leisurely stroll, but at least it isn’t raining anymore. Nick’s not sure he could say no anyway, not with Puppy pulling excitedly at her lead and Harry smiling at him like that. 

As they walk, Harry hands over Nick’s coffee and transfers the bag of pastries and his coffee into his left hand, leaving his free one to hold one of Nick’s free one. Nick isn’t usually fussed about holding hands, but his heart trips over itself at the feel of Harry’s hand wrapped around his own. It’s just _hand holding_ , for Christ’s sake, but Nick is well and truly flummoxed.

“Tell me about yourself, Harry Styles,” Nick says, partly because he wants to know and partly to distract himself from the tightness in his chest. 

Harry tells him about growing up in Holmes Chapel, working at the bakery as a teenager, and going to a small school in Crewe for uni.

“I teach Year Two at the primary school right up the road,” Harry says, nodding his chin in the direction they’re walking.

“You’re a school teacher. I’ve had sex with a school teacher,” Nick says. “I feel a bit naughty if I’m being honest, but that does explain the horrible jokes.”

“Hey,” Harry says, long and drawn out and adorable. “You should hear my knock knock jokes. They’re a big hit with my 7 year olds.”

Nick stops walking and waits for Harry to stop as well before he leans in and kisses him. It isn’t really possible to do much more than press his lips firmly to Harry’s because they’re both laden with drinks and food and dog, but Nick is giddy with how much he likes Harry. If Nick had any free hands he’d pinch himself just to be sure he hasn’t dreamt up this entire week.

“What was that for?” Harry asks.

Harry’s beanie is pulled down over his curls and his breath makes little puffs of fog every time he speaks. His cheeks are flushed and rosy from the cold. Nick sort of hates himself for how cute he thinks Harry is. 

“Going with the moment,” Nick says, smiling when Harry takes his hand again. They keep walking.

Harry chatters about his family -- parents divorced and mum remarried, his sister and step-brother and a slew of cousins still living around the area. 

Finally, they reach a little playground and Harry says, “This is where I work,” nodding his head at the school next door. 

The red brick building is surrounded by bushes and nestled into a cute little neighborhood where every house has a garden struggling to make it through the winter. Nick imagines they are quite lovely in the spring. The playground has picnic tables set up next to a child-sized pirate ship. 

Harry starts to unpack their bag of goodies at one of the tables while Nick investigates the pirate ship. He has every intention of climbing on it and pretending to be a pirate, but first he’s going to dig into his pie and vanilla slice. Nick is a firm believer in eating cake before doing almost anything else.

The mince pies are excellent. Nick tells Harry about his brother’s family, his sister, and his niece as they eat, trying not to talk with his mouth full and being only marginally successful.

“Both my brother and sister are a lot older than I am. My parents were both surprised by my existence and tired of it before I was grown,” Nick says. “Jane can sometimes act like my mum and Livvie like my sister. Jane used to cluck at me a good deal about how often I went out and got pissed back when I had the energy to do such things.”

“I read the Mirror,” Harry says, grinning over the lid of his coffee cup. “Seems like you’re still up to no good often enough.”

“Complete rubbish,” Nick says. “I’m a paragon of virtue in real life. But if you wanted to play pirate on that ship over there, I’d gladly be the captain with questionable morals. You can be my captive with a heart of gold who’s made me reconsider my criminal ways.”

Harry’s game for a round of pirates, but they end up huddled together on the deck of the ship snogging while Puppy chases a murder of birds around the swing set. Kissing Harry makes Nick’s toes curl and the tips of his fingers tingle. He never wants to stop. Nick hasn’t felt this intensely about a person since he was in his first year at uni and fell head over heels for a boy named Roger who told him he had nice hands and a big cock and who laughed at all his jokes.

These kinds of feelings scare the hell out of him because the end is already in sight. The day after Christmas, Nick will head off to his parents’ house and then back to London for the new year while Harry stays in Holmes Chapel to flirt with old ladies at the bakery and charm primary school children. 

It would be too complicated for Harry and Nick to be anything more than this, and Nick has never been very good at complicated. Despite that, his subconscious won’t stop whispering that Harry might be worth a bit of complication. Nick is man enough to admit he’s freaking out about the whole thing.

“I should probably head back soon,” Nick says when Harry stops kissing him to press his face into the warmth of Nick’s neck. 

Harry’s body is a solid weight against Nick’s side. There’s a part of Nick that wants to hold him close and another part that wants to run away and not look back. 

“I’ll walk you,” Harry says.

Nick knows what will happen next if he lets Harry walk him back, and he’d be a liar if he said he didn’t want Harry to come to Gemma’s with him, to follow him inside. Nick wants nothing more than to take Harry home, get him naked, and hide under the covers with him until Christmas. But this isn’t Nick’s home and Harry isn’t Nick’s boyfriend, and they shouldn’t be letting feelings get in the way of the truth. Whatever is happening between them is nothing more than a fling between two strangers.

“I think,” Nick says as he stands up -- and then he can’t go on. He lets the words trail off and float away in the cold air. He feels like his body is being torn in two, pulled apart by what he wants to do and what he should do, but he doesn’t want to say the words to end it.

Harry must see something in his expression because he takes a step back and frowns.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. 

“I should probably head back on my own is all,” says Nick. “It’s been lovely today, but I’m still leaving in three days.”

“But that’s three days we could spend together,” Harry says stubbornly, his brows knitting together in an angry pout. “Stop acting like London’s on the other side of the world. It’s not that far.”

“I really like you,” Nick says a bit desperately because he doesn’t want Harry thinking he doesn’t. Nick is only certain he can’t have him. “But the distance does make this hard and I’m no good at hard. I can barely manage simple when it comes to relationships.”

Harry looks as if he might argue for a moment, but then he nods, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. 

“Okay,” he says, staring at Nick for a long moment before he bends down and strokes a hand down Puppy’s back. “Goodbye, Puppy. It was lovely meeting you.”

When Harry stands again, Nick pulls him in by the wrist and kisses him hard on the mouth. He means for it to be quick, but they end up clinging to one another for a bit, unwilling to let their mouths and hands stop touching.

Nick is the one to finally step back, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Goodbye, Harry Styles,” he says.

“Goodbye, Nick Grimshaw,” Harry says sadly.

~~~

Nick spends the next two days just as he intended -- curled up on Gemma’s sofa with Puppy, reading his horrible romance novel, watching low-budget BBC Christmas productions, and not thinking about Harry at all.

He doesn’t think about Harry when the male lead in one of the movies tells a horrible joke, and he doesn’t think about Harry as he walks up and down the stairs where a dozen photos of Harry’s face smile at him disarmingly. He certainly doesn’t think about Harry when he catches Puppy chewing on a beanie that Nick thinks he remembers from the night at the pub.

“This is ridiculous,” he says to Puppy as he rescues Harry’s beanie from certain destruction. 

Everything is depressing. Not even the annual airing of _Love Actually_ seems capable of lifting Nick’s mood, and he _loves_ that film.

“I’m going to die alone, aren’t I?”

Puppy cocks her head as if to say, _yes, most likely_.

Nick is not going to end up one of those old people who sits at home alone and makes up voices for his dog. He refuses. And he thinks he might be in love with Harry, even though it’s ridiculous to think so because love at first sight only exists in films like _Love Actually_.

He calls Gemma, which is strange because he supposes he is technically calling himself.

When she answers, Nick hears music and voices in the background. Instead of greeting her normally, he says, “Are you throwing a do in my house?”

“Um, hello, Nick,” Gemma says. “I feel a bit like I’ve been caught out by my dad right now.”

The last thing Nick wants is to be compared to someone’s dad. He’s feeling very vulnerable and awful, which is the only explanation for why he says, “Well, I shagged your brother in your bed so I suppose we’re even.”

“Oh my _God_ ,” Gemma says. “I’m going to dunk everything in your bathroom into the toilet. I’m going to shag your neighbor on your kitchen table. I hate you.”

“Don’t you -- wait, which neighbor is this?”

“Shut up,” Gemma says, drawing out the second word the way Nick has heard Harry do when he’s embarrassed. “The Irish one, Niall.”

“Oh, Niall is it?” Nick says. “He’s a good lad if a bit of an odd duck.”

“You’ve met my brother, right?” Gemma says in a tone that is definitely mocking so Nick has no choice but to say, “Intimately.”

“Ugh, did you need something or did you just decide that scarring me for life would be a fun thing to do on a Monday night?”

“I need your brother’s address,” Nick says. “He’s left a beanie here and I want to return it.”

“That is quite possibly the lamest excuse I’ve ever heard. He’s my brother. He can fetch it back anytime he wants.”

“Just give me the address!” Nick says, his voice going high and shrieky.

Gemma laughs, but she rattles off the address anyway.

“Thank you,” Nick says. “Please disinfect my table if you do, in fact, shag Irish Niall from next door on it.”

“Only if you disinfect my brain from knowing you shagged Harry in my room.”

“And in your shower,” Nick says because he loves to take the piss out of people, especially ones he likes and who he wants to like him back. Cruelty makes the heart grow fonder or summat. 

“I’m hanging up now,” Gemma says. “I really dislike you. Happy Christmas.”

“Happy Christmas,” Nick says cheerfully before disconnecting the call.

~~~

Harry’s house is strung bright with Christmas lights, his front door painted blue with a red wreath made of holly berries. It reminds him of his family home and he’s suddenly homesick for his parents. It’s been years since he spent a Christmas away from them.

Nick takes a deep breath and knocks on the door.

“Surprise!” Nick says when Harry answers. 

Nick isn’t sure what he was expecting, but Harry doesn’t look very happy to see him and he definitely wasn’t expecting that. 

Harry steps half way out of the house, blocking the opening in the door with his body. “This is a surprise,” he says, glancing back over his shoulder into the house.

The bottom of Nick’s stomach drops out. It’s not the first time he’s fucked somebody who was in a relationship. Hell, he’s even done it on purpose a couple of times, so he isn’t one to be judgemental about cheating. Still, he didn’t figure Harry for the type.

“Fuck,” Nick says. “You’re married.”

“I -- no, I’m not married, Jesus Christ, Nick,” Harry says sharply as if he can’t believe Nick is even asking him something like that.

Nick opens his mouth to ask what the hell is going on when the door nudges open and a young girl presses her head underneath Harry’s arm to stare up at Nick.

“Daddy, who’s this?” she asks, and it takes Nick much longer than it should to realize she’s talking to Harry.

_Harry_ is this girl’s _father_.

At least Harry has the decency to look uncomfortable as he introduces them. “Addison, this is my friend, Nick,” he says. “Nick, my daughter Addison.”

Addison takes a moment to assess Nick while Nick does his best not to gape at the two of them. 

“You have funny hair,” she says, which Nick would find hilarious considering her father’s hair looks like he’s electrocuted it instead of brushed it but he's still too shocked to properly find the humor in it.

And, oh God, Harry is a father. Harry is responsible for another human being’s existence. It’s blowing Nick’s mind.

“It is rather massive,” Nick agrees in lieu of what he really wants to say to Harry which is _why the fuck didn’t you tell me you had a child???_

“I like it,” Addison says. “Daddy, invite your friend in for hot chocolate. Don’t be rude.”

Nick must be getting over his initial shock because this time he does laugh at how exasperated she sounds.

“Guess you can see who the boss is,” Harry says with a shrug. “Do you want to come in for some cocoa?”

The inside of Harry’s house is lovely, very homey and comfortable with a great big tree covered in all kinds of ornaments, most of them obviously made by a child. Addison’s things are everywhere -- a game system on the floor by the telly, a coloring book and markers on the table, and various toys littering the sitting room. 

“Your house is nice,” Nick says, feeling very awkward.

“Thanks,” Harry says walking them into the kitchen.

This is obviously a part of Harry’s life he didn’t want to share with Nick or he would have told him about Addison on their date. Barbara had even given him an opening to talk about her at the bakery and Harry hadn’t taken it.

Nick doesn’t think he should be hurt over it. They hardly know one another when it comes down to it, but Nick feels the sting from Harry keeping something this big from him nonetheless. 

While Nick’s having his internal meltdown Addison turns on the kettle and gets the box of cocoa from the cupboard. 

“Can I have marshmallows?” she asks Harry. 

“Of course,” Harry says as he pulls three mugs down from a shelf that is much too high for Addison to reach.

“Do you have any children?” Addison asks Nick, getting the marshmallows out and placing some into the mugs Harry’s just set out. 

Nick notices she puts about five extra marshmallows into her own mug.

“No,” Nick says. “But I do have a dog.”

“Her name is Puppy,” Harry supplies. 

Addison giggles and looks to Nick asking, “Is that really her name?”

Nick loves children, their honesty and their enthusiasm for almost everything. He likes them almost as much as he likes dogs, and he likes dogs an awful lot.

“It really is,” Nick says.

“That’s a silly name,” Addison informs him. “I want to meet her. Can I meet her, Daddy?”

He wishes he’d brought Puppy along for Addison to play with, but he hadn’t even known Addison existed until now, and he’d selfishly wanted to spend time with Harry without worrying about what Puppy would be getting up to unsupervised.

“You’d have to ask Nick,” Harry says.

He sets their hot cocoas in front of them and Addison sips at hers, studying Nick over the rim of her mug. 

“Can I?” Addison asks. “You could go get him.”

“Her,” Nick corrects automatically taking his own sip of cocoa. “And it’s probably a bit late tonight.”

“Tomorrow! You can come to Granny’s for Christmas roast and bring Puppy.”

Nick has no idea what to say. On the one hand, he’s got nothing to do tomorrow and the thought of sitting at home by himself, miserable and pathetic, is not appealing. On the other hand, Harry didn’t extend the invitation and Nick doesn’t want to make things even weirder by asking if it’s okay for him to come.

Harry saves him by saying, “We’ll see, Addy. Don’t be a pest.”

Addison sticks her tongue out at Harry and says, “That’s what he said about getting me a puppy for my birthday.”

“How old will you be?” Nick asks.

“I’ll be nine in January,” Addison says.

Nick is terrible at maths, but he’s not so terrible that he can’t figure out Harry was _really_ young when he had her. 

“She’s been begging for months,” Harry says. “Won’t leave me alone about it. You’d be the hit of the evening if you brought her tomorrow.”

“I don’t want to intrude on your family time,” Nick says because that’s what you’re supposed to say when someone’s child forces them to extend an unwanted invitation.

“Oh, please,” Addison begs.

“Okay, Addy, enough of that,” Harry says, standing and placing his mug in the sink. “We don’t badger guests. Why don’t you go get ready for bed and I’ll come say goodnight in a bit.”

“Aw,” Addison says, but she gets up dejectedly and starts for the door.

“Don’t worry,” Harry calls after her. “I’ll pick up your dish.”

“Sorry, Daddy!” Addison calls back, but she doesn’t come back to pick it up.

Harry rolls his eyes and sits down at the table again, looking Nick in the eyes.

“So,” he says.

“So,” Nick replies, “you’re a dad.”

“I’m a dad.”

Harry seems reluctant to talk about it despite the fact that two days ago he seemed to be suggesting he wanted more from Nick than a holiday fling. 

“I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me about her,” Nick says. “Especially after all that talk about getting to know one another. A child is something you might have mentioned.”

“I might’ve,” Harry says. “But you kept insisting we were only having an affair and I don’t generally bring blokes I’m having a casual affair with ‘round to meet my daughter.”

Nick supposes he has a point. It’s not as if Nick is an open book either. The whole mess just drives home how very little they actually know about one another.

“I keep forgetting we’ve only known each other a week,” Nick says. “Feels like longer.”

“It does,” Harry agrees. “And I’d like to know more. I’d like you to know more, but I thought you’d decided getting to know one another was too complicated for you right now.”

“Just so happens I’ve acquired a real taste for complicated over the last few days.”

Harry smiles at him from across the table. “Well, what would you like to know?” he asks.

“I reckon everything,” Nick says. “But you can start with Addison. Tell me about your daughter, Harry.”

“Well, she’s brilliant for starters,” Harry says proudly.

“Of course,” Nick says and settles back in his chair with his cold cocoa to listen.

~~~

Christmas with the Styles family is a very loud affair which Nick only exacerbates by bringing Puppy along. 

“I should have left her at home,” Nick shouts over the din of Addison’s shrieks and Puppy’s barking.

“Are you kidding?” Harry asks. “You were only invited for your dog. Addy would have slammed the door in your face if you’d come empty-handed.”

“Good to know how I rank in the order of things.”

Harry rests his head against Nick’s shoulder and says, “Don’t feel bad. I promise I’m not using you for your dog, at least.”

Harry’s mum has a fire lit and everyone is full on roast and potatoes and wine. Nick doesn’t ever want to get up from this sofa, but he’s supposed to be leaving tomorrow afternoon and he’s still not completely packed. 

“I’m going to have to head out soon,” Nick says, lacing his fingers through Harry’s.

“My mum offered to keep Addy tonight,” Harry says. 

Nick’s heart thumps happily in his chest and he kisses Harry’s forehead before asking, “Does that mean you’re coming home with me tonight?”

“I need to help put her to bed, but I want to come by later, if I can.”

“Yes,” Nick says. “I definitely want to see you before I leave tomorrow.”

Harry burrows closer and says, “I want that too.”

~~~

Nick gets most of his non-essentials packed before Puppy starts barking to let him know that Harry’s arrived. He gets downstairs and has the door open before Harry makes it up the walk from his car.

“Hiya,” Nick says, kissing him in greeting.

“You’ve ruined my knock knock joke,” Harry says. “I had a really good one planned.”

Harry is a ridiculous person, but Nick still wants to indulge him for some reason.

“Go on then,” Nick says.

“It’s no good now, but knock knock,” Harry says.

“Who’s there?”

“Adore.”

“Adore who?” Nick asks dutifully.

“Adore is between us. Open up,” Harry says, throwing his hands wide in triumph.

Nick pulls Harry in by the waist and kisses him breathless against the door jamb.

“Appalling and embarrassing,” Nick says. “You’re lucky I find that incredibly sexy in a man.”

“Prove it,” Harry tells him, so Nick takes him upstairs.

Nick manages to get his kit most of the way off, but Harry only manages his trousers and pants before Nick tackles him to the bed. There’s a condom and lube on the nightstand and Nick doesn’t waste any time crawling over to retrieve them.

He’s so desperate his hands are shaking by the time he settles between Harry’s thighs. Harry takes the condom packet and opens it wordlessly, leaving Nick’s hands free to focus on opening Harry up with the slick. 

He likes the way Harry looks on his fingers, his chest heaving and beads of sweat forming at his hairline. He leans down and licks at the little drops of precome spotting Harry’s stomach, but he doesn’t touch Harry’s prick, just lets his breath ghost over it like a promise.

“Please,” Harry says, writhing on Nick’s fingers, stretched open for Nick’s cock.

Nick wants him so badly he can hardly breathe.

Everything is oddly quiet. Maybe neither of them has anything to say, or maybe there’s just nothing to be done about all the things they want to say so they’ve both made an unspoken agreement not to say anything at all.

Nick is caught between wanting to draw it out and being so desperate that he can’t wait any longer. Fucking Harry with his fingers is really hot, but Nick wants to fuck him with his cock as well. 

He sucks a mark into Harry’s thigh as he drags his fingers slowly out of Harry’s body. There are so many things he’d do to Harry if they had the time. He feels a bit like Cinderella on the night of the ball, the clock counting down to the inevitable ending, except that this mark is all Nick will leave behind.

“Enough,” Harry says. “Get on with it.”

“Bossy,” Nick says as affectionately as he can.

“That’s not getting on with it,” Harry whines, nails digging into the back of Nick’s neck as he pulls him up for a kiss.

“Where’d that condom get off to?” Nick asks and Harry throws out his hand, fingers scrabbling against the quilt in search of the package he just opened.

He makes a little sound of triumph when he finds it, pulling the condom out and handing it off to Nick to roll on. 

The first slide in makes them both groan and Harry wraps his legs around Nick’s back urging him on with his hands and his mouth, touching and kissing every part of Nick he can reach. 

Nick fucks him as hard as he can and when Harry whispers, “I’m close,” he moves to his knees, hoisting Harry up with him so that Harry’s sat on his lap. 

The change in position lets Nick get deeper into Harry’s body. Harry throws his head back while Nick wanks him, his hips grinding down on Nick’s cock, and when he finally comes he lets out a whimper and shakes in Nick’s arms while Nick works him through it.

Harry is decidedly unhelpful after that, but Nick is too close to care. He fucks up into Harry’s spent body and comes, toppling them both onto the mattress in a heap of sweaty limbs.

“Don’t leave,” Harry says.

Nick doesn’t want to leave but he doesn’t want to ruin the moment talking about all the reasons he can’t stay.

“Come with me,” he says instead.

Harry sighs and burrows closer, his face mashed into Nick’s chest.

“Can I tell you something?” Harry asks.

“As long as it’s not another knock knock joke,” Nick says. “You can tell me anything you like.”

He feels Harry’s smile against his skin and a barely audible intake of breath, and then Harry says, “I love you.”

Nick has no idea what to do with that. It’s maybe the last thing he was expecting Harry to say. He lies there in stunned silence for so long that Harry rolls away and sits up.

“Don’t freak out,” he says.

“Too late, I think,” Nick says, sitting up as well. “I don’t know what to say.”

Harry looks like he’s been whalloped with one of the heavy feather pillows resting against the headboard.

“I think that says it all,” he mutters.

“Harry, no,” Nick says, moving close enough to tackle him back to the mattress. “It’s just that I don’t see a way for this to work. I love you too, but that doesn’t change anything.”

Harry’s smile is so wide it takes up his whole face. 

“You love me, though,” Harry says. “That’s enough for tonight.”

Nick isn’t so sure, but he falls asleep before he can think of anything else to say.

~~~

The drive to Oldham from Gemma’s place takes less than an hour, but the first fifteen minutes alone feel like an eternity because there is nothing to distract Nick from his own thoughts. Nick calls his mum to tell her he’s on his way and ends up listening to her complain about travelling at Christmas.

“The resort was lovely,” his mum says, “but the airports were horrible.”

“Well, it’s Christmas,” Nick says. “I’m sure they would have rather been at home with their families.”

“You’re not still cross that we left, are you?” she asks. “I wouldn’t have gone if we’d known you had nowhere to go.”

Nick was never cross, only whiny because his ego had been bruised and things hadn’t gone his way, but that’s an aspect of his personality that neither of his parents has ever understood. They’re both no-nonsense sort of people, so of course they ended up with an utterly ridiculous person for a son.

“No, mum, I’m fine,” he says.

“You are fine,” she says. “And I’m not sorry to tell you that your father and I never cared for Andrew. He wasn’t right for you. He was far too serious and he never laughed at your jokes.”

Nick smiles to himself. His parents may not always get him, but he’s never doubted that they love him for exactly who he is.

“I know your heart is broken right now,” says his mum, “but you’ll be healed soon enough. There’s someone out there for you, I’m sure of it.”

Nick knows she’s talking about Andrew, but Harry’s is the face he sees. He keeps picturing how defeated Harry had looked in Nick’s rearview mirror as Nick drove away this afternoon.

Nick suddenly realizes he hasn’t thought about Andrew in days. Now, when he does think about Andrew, Nick doesn’t feel anywhere near as horrible as he feels when he thinks about never seeing Harry again. 

“Mum,” Nick says. “I’m going to have to call you back.”

The drive back to Gemma’s feels like it takes twice as long even though Nick is going ten kilometers over the limit. He keeps thinking he’ll miss Harry, that he’ll show up and Harry will have locked up and gone back to his own house. By the time he arrives at the cabin, he’s half convinced himself that if Harry’s already left it’ll be a sign they weren’t meant to be. 

Nick throws the car into park and runs up the walk shouting Harry’s name. The front door is unlocked so Nick lets himself and Puppy inside and makes it all the way to the kitchen before he sees Harry sat at the dining room table. He’s clearly been crying.

“Oh Harry,” Nick says.

“I kept thinking you wouldn’t really leave,” Harry says.

Nick kneels next to the chair and pulls Harry into his arms, pressing kisses to the tears on his cheeks.

“I came back,” he says.

“Why did you?” Harry asks, his breath catching on the words. “Nothing’s changed.”

Nick wants to tell him that everything has changed. He’s changed. Nick had only _imagined_ himself in love before Harry. He wants to say all of it, but he isn’t sure Harry will believe him right now. 

“I wanted to know what you’re doing for New Year’s,” Nick says instead. “I was hoping you’d let me kiss you at midnight.”

Harry studies Nick’s face with red-rimmed eyes and says, “You know what they say about whatever you’re doing at midnight on New Year’s day?”

Nick kisses him hard.

“I’m counting on it,” he says.


End file.
